


Marco's Polos

by reynkout



Series: Retail Store Epics [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: "double penetration", Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Butt Sex, Fingering, Horse Jokes, Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plotless Sex, Public Sex, Teasing, hung like a horse, i need a job, im sorry, marc o'polo, retail stores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynkout/pseuds/reynkout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's nice white polo shirt gets smeared with some chocolate ice cream that won't come out. He drives his butt over to the nearest Marc O'Polo store. Jean has no idea where to start; he really doesn't know how girls can shop 'til they drop. Add a freckle-faced employee into the confusing mix, and Jean's guaranteed to be screaming for <i>ass</i>istance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marco's Polos

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack On Titan or Marc O'Polo. Please don't ask if I work there, because I do not.
> 
> Hi again, it's reynkout with another Retail Store fic for y'all.  
> This one is really, really half-baked and didn't come out nearly as good as I wanted it to. Unfortunately, there's not a whole lot I can do about that. Recently, my job interview went downhill and I was told I'm too young to be working at their store. No, I will not name the company (as much as I want to; they were so rude). So that played a huge role in why this piece isn't as great as my first one: [ Only A Dollar Fifty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1761205) Give that a read, too, if you haven't already. It'll knock your socks off (hopefully).  
> Okay! I'm out. Enjoy.

It happened when Jean was eating his favorite ice cream, double chocolate chip fudge flavor. It was sweltering hot day, and the beating sun didn’t help the ice cream from not melting quickly. He lapped at the sugary liquid running down the waffle cone, enjoying its taste. Unfortunately, he ran into Jaeger, who engaged with him in a very heated discussion over Mikasa. Jean was so absorbed in what was now an argument, that the double chocolate chip fudge ice cream landed smack-dab on his nice, whitey-tighty polo shirt. Eren snorted, Jean threw a punch at him, and both of them ended up getting told to shut up and get their shit together, albeit politely, by the ice cream parlor’s owner.

Jean attempted several times to clean his polo shirt, but to no avail. The brown smudged stain was bound to be there forever. He huffed, frustrated. What should he do now? Buy another t-shirt? Actually, that sounded like a good idea. Nothing like spending fifty dollars for a t-shirt, just like Macklemore had said in one of his songs.

So Jean drove himself to the nearest Marc O’Polo. He parked his clunky, old Honda in the strip mall’s parking lot, then walked into the store. Jean was greeted by a perky salesman with a face full of defined freckles.

“Hi, welcome to Marc O’Polo!” he chirped. “We’re having a sale today.” The guy pointed toward a section of the store filled upon racks and racks of an assortment of shirts long and short sleeved.

“Oh, thanks.” Jean would definitely be heading in that direction. Then again, Macklemore…

“Let me know if you need any help. Just call ‘Marco’,”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Maybe calling “Marco” was something like a little code that all employees at Marc O’Polo had to learn and respond to. Jean didn’t want to dwell on it, so he busied himself looking through the sale items and pushed the thought far back into his mind.

But he noticed the way that freckled employee looked at him. He seemed to be eyeing him up and down with a smug look on his face. Whenever they made eye contact, the guy’s face would light up like a light bulb and he’d smile at Jean. 

_A faulty light bulb_ , Jean thought to himself. He rolled his eyes. Geez, this guy was like, eyefucking his body or something while he was looking for a new polo.

Finally, after some concentration Jean’s part, he found two nice shirts. One in white, similar to the ruined one he had, and a polo in a red. He held them up examining both of them in great interest. Color was good, but red tended to bleed in the washer. Jean would have to wash that polo separately from the rest of his laundry. But then again, he would have to do a load of whites when he purchased the white shirt. He wouldn’t be saving money either way. He huffed, this wasn’t such an easy thing to do at all. Jean couldn’t understand how girls could go shopping for hours when they had to decide on clothes like this. Picking color was already bad enough. And then the fit? Jean had no idea.

Ugh, sooner than he expected, he heard himself calling for the creepy-ass employee, “‘Marco’,”

“Polo!” Jean quirked a brow at the employee who rushed over to him as quickly as he could. Now, that was something different. Who in the world respond to “Marco” with “Polo”? He’d never heard something so ridiculous in his entire life (save for the games in the swimming pool when he was a kid… that is such a _dangerous_ game, by the way).

“Well, uh, I think I need some assistance, man.” Jean was getting flustered for no good reason. Something about those coffee bean colored eyes made him squirm on the spot.

“Then I’m just the person to give you some _ass_ istance,”

Hell, did Jean just hear that right? Was the man in front of him attempting to make a move on him? How creepy... And unfortunately it was working, too; Jean rubbed the back of his neck, a little nervous. Shit, he was such a fucking wimp.

“What did you need help with?” the employee asked, sounding like he truthfully wanted to help Jean, the customer, out.

Oh, great. He was going to sound so stupid. “Um, which color?” Jean looked anywhere but the freckled face staring at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Which… which color should I get?” Jean clarified. Damn, he was so dumb.

“Oh!” the employee almost sounded like a mouse squeaking. “Colors are in this season.” Jean opened his mouth to say that colors leaked in the wash, but the guy beat him to it, “Ah, but don’t worry. All of our colored polos are guaranteed not to wash out and get the rest of your load _dirty_.”

“Uh,” Jean couldn’t believe his ears. They were sure as hell deceiving him today. “You mean, it won’t leak?”

“That, too.”

Sure, Jean thought. “Could you um, help me find a red shirt in my size?”

“Does that one you have now not fit?” Good question. 

“I don’t really know my size,” Jean didn’t want to admit that all his shirts were bought by his mother.

“Here,” the guy said. “Turn around and I’ll see what your shoulder width is,”

Jean did as he was told to, turning his back to the guy. Fingers fluttered over his shoulder blades, his back muscles suddenly tensing. He heard a chuckle, but it was so soft that Jean could have believed it was just his imagination. Something plastic was pushed against either side of his shoulders for a few seconds, then taken off again, only to be wrapped around his neck. The employee’s hand brushed against Jean’s sensitive Adam’s apple, making him jump.

“Whoopsie daisies,” the freckled guy giggled. He then measured Jean’s waist before taking away the measuring tape. He flipped Jean around to face him with a huge grin on his face. “Looks like you’re a size Medium, and regular.”

“Excuse me?” Jean was a little offended being called regular. Man, he was everything but regular.

“Oh, no, nothing like that!” the employee laughed, tilting back his head. “I was just telling you what would fit you the best. Your measurements say you’re a regular _size_ for a Medium.” Something in his dark eyes glinted, but Jean decided to ignore it. “Here, this one is a red in Medium regular.” He handed over a shirt smaller than the previous one Jean had in his hands.

“I see, thanks.” The dude just nods at him. “You mind if I go try it on?”

The guy scratched an itch behind his ear. “Our fitting rooms are kind of getting remodeled right now.” Jean looked at him skeptically. Suddenly, the dude took his hand and dragged him to a door leading to the back of the store. “You know what? Here, come with me. I’ve got a better place for you,”

“Heh, what?” Jean didn’t do anything to protest.

The employee unlocked the door, shoving Jean into the darkness of the room in front of them. He slammed the door closed, flipping on the light switch. The bulb flickered on; Jean was in a small storage room filled with boxes of Marc O’Polo merchandise. The employee pushed him down until he was sitting on a sturdy box of shirts.

“Uh,” Jean gawked when the freckled guy in front of him started stripping himself. He cleared his throat, earning and brilliant smile. “What was your name..?” He didn’t even know who this guy was.

“Didn’t I already tell you? It’s Marco,” Marco exposed his abdomen, then his pectorals, sliding his polo shirt up ever so slowly, teasing Jean.

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” Marco brought his freckled hands to his belt buckle, unlatching it. He slithered towards Jean until their faces were only inches away. “I’m Marco, in case you didn’t know.”

Jean got lost in those coffee colored eyes taunting him with dirty messages from Marco’s mind. He swore he was drooling a little bit. “Uh-huh,” he muttered. “Whatcha doin’?”

Marco’s hands gripped onto Jean’s shirt, lifting it up. He took it off, leaving the other shirtless, just like himself. They joined lips, Jean making a high-pitched noise of unsureness. Marco stroked his naked arms, trailing his slim fingers to the blond man’s chest. He flicked at a nipple.

Jean gasped, his breathing speeding up. It felt good, having one of his sensitive spots stimulated. He would never tell anyone that he secretly loved his nipples being tugged, pinched and pulled at. His back arched; as much as he wanted it, he wasn’t ready to give himself over to this Marco stranger just yet. Jean’s hands shot at Marco’s forearms, keeping him from moving further. He manhandled Marco until his freckled back hit the door. Jean couldn’t really think clearly anymore. Something in his mind snapped, and he growled.

“How long have you been looking at me like that?” Jean nipped at Marco’s left cheek, rubbing his thumbs across the freckled collarbone.

With no completely clear answer, Marco gave a moan, sticking his tongue out to lap at Jean’s chin. The stubble there was coming in, rough, but the freckled brunette didn’t mind. Jean stopped, pulling away. He turned his attention to shuck the other’s pants off, boxers going with it. Soon, all Marco was wearing was his mismatching socks: black and yellow. Jean quirked his eyebrows at them, but didn’t comment. Instead, he took the freckled guy’s fingers and slid it into his mouth. He sucked three of them in, twirling his pink organ around Marco’s middle fingertip. Before Marco could ask, he took the fingers out of his mouth.

“Jean,” he panted. “My name is Jean,” He resumed giving fellatio to Marco’s fingers.

“Ohh, Jean,” There was a dusting of pink on those freckled cheeks. He curled his digits in Jean’s mouth, massaging his tongue. “You don’t know how sexy you’re gonna look in that polo shirt.” He began to thrust his fingers in and out.

Jean groaned, the sound coming from the back of his throat. He swallowed more of the length of Marco’s fingers, making little slurping noises as he downed them. The freckled employee watched him with pupils dilated, his teeth stuck between lips. Even right now Jean was sexy. Jean took Marco’s fingers out of his mouth, now guiding them to Marco’s pucker. He pushed his finger in at the same time as Marco, impaling the freckled guy with two fingers; one finger from each of them.

“Hey Marco,” Jean slid their fingers all the way to the knuckle, causing Marco to cry out. “let’s play a little round of Marco Polo. When I say ‘Marco’, you say ‘Polo’, but only when I’ve found it, okay?”

Marco moaned, nodding his head. He shut his eyes, letting Jean lead their pace of fingering. The first few strokes were slow, reaching a little deeper in him each time, but not quite hitting anything to sizzle his nerve endings. Jean’s excessiveness saying of “Marco” was driving him mad. He desperately wanted to say “Polo”, but they hadn’t found his good spot yet. Marco whimpered when they came so, so close but missed it by a millimeter. Jean was obviously teasing him, reading his face like an open book. An open picture book; he was that simple. Marco shook his head in sexual frustration.

“‘Marco’?” Jean asked in a sweet, gentle voice. He crooked his finger, poking straight into Marco’s sweet spot. Marco’s breath hitched, gasping. When Jean jabbed at it, he keened. “‘Marco’?”

Oh shit, he needed to reply. They were still playing Marco Polo. With a shuddering voice, he managed to say those two syllables, “‘Polo’,”

“Hmm?” A grin played on Jean’s peach lips. “‘Marco’?” He dug his finger purposefully into Marco’s prostate.

Marco couldn’t help but give a little yip. His eyes snapped open, his hole twitching around his and Jean’s fingers. “‘Polo’, ‘Polo’, ‘Polo’, oh God, Jean! ‘Polo’!”

Jean smiled this time, drawing back and opening his own jeans. He sat back on the floor, beckoning Marco to follow him. The freckled man straddled Jean’s hips, stroking his sides. The blond tilted his head to the side, enjoying the small teasings. Marco grabbed Jean’s member that was sticking up, more than ready for more. He nudged his nose at his cheek, asking for something.

“Don’t worry,” Jean said. He whipped out his wallet from his back pocket. “I’ll pay for it.” A condom emerged from it.

Marco chuckled, taking the packet and opening it, sliding the condom down Jean’s cock. He stroked it a few times before positioning his hips until Jean was pressing up against his entrance.

“You’re hung like a horse,” he commented, sticking out his tongue playfully.

“Why thank you, dear,” Jean slammed Marco down, impaling him. “How’s it feel to be fucked by a horse?”

Marco yelled, his back arching. He was more surprised than anything else. The intrusion was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jean gave him a few moments to adjust, then started to thrust into his body mercilessly. Marco groaned, clawing at the blonde’s shoulders, lifting himself up and down to the pace Jean had set for them. It was frenzied, the sound of skin slapping against each other echoed in the small storage space they were in.

The brunette rode Jean fast and hard, squeezing him like nobody else could. Fuck, Jean was so hot. He hit the deepest regions in Marco, forcing unchecked moans and yelps out from his lips. His face was one who was doing his utmost best to control himself and his feelings. Marco now noticed that a lot of the groans and moans were coming from Jean more than himself. He smirked, rapidly clenching his muscles on Jean’s dick as they fucked. Jean inhaled sharply, glaring at Marco. He hit his plush rump with his palm. Marco flinched when he felt the sharp sting, halting his motions. Jean took over, moving in and out of the freckled guy with haste.

“Ach, Marco,” he groaned, his fingers bruising Marco’s hips.

Marco couldn’t stop himself from replying, not realizing that Jean was actually just calling his name, “‘Polo’!” Tears streamed from his coffee eyes.

He screamed when Jean thrust up into his sweet spot. He took his hands to Jean’s neck, wrangling it. Jean’s eyes bugged, his breaths shallow but he wasn’t suffocating. Apparently, his body thought this was a good idea too, because his cock filled even more, if that was even possible. The blond felt his way down to where he and Marco were joined, the place where they were the most sensitive right now. He wiggled his index finger right alongside his cock.

That action took Marco even higher, his mouth going agape. He wasn’t going to last much longer. His member bounced against his belly, so wanting attention, but at this point it would spurt without anyone touching it. This was dangerous.

Jean made a gurgling noise; Marco let go of his throat, apologizing slightly with a pout before it was wiped off his face and replaced with one full of lust.

“Come, babe,” Jean rasped, brushing his hand over the head of Marco’s dick.

The stimulation was too much for both of them; Marco moaned as he released, covering Jean’s hand in creamy white fluid with some slicked onto his own stomach. Jean followed, thrusting in abandon, searching for his near release. He spilled into the rubber, his whole body shaking. They stayed like that for some time before Marco took his chances and slumped over, catching his breath. Jean stroked his dark locks, cupping his jaw softly. Marco leaned into the touch, feeling tired. But there was no way he could sleep on the job. He was still at work, after all.

The freckled employee found strength in his haunches and hoisted himself from Jean, letting him slide out with a weak sigh. They didn’t want to part, Marco knew that, but they had to. Besides, Jean was a customer shopping at Marc O’Polo.

He cleaned Jean and himself with Jean’s own shirt, already dirty with the chocolate stain from earlier. The condom was tied off and went flying into a trashcan in the far corner. Marco handed him the red shirt Jean was supposed to try on.

“Here, put it on. I guarantee it’ll fit you.” he puckered his lips at the blond.

He was right. Jean looked superb in the red polo, size Medium in regular. The shoulders fit perfectly, the cut slim and sexy on Jean’s figure. The length was excellent; not too long, not too short. Marco felt his cheeks flare, his body willing him to pop a boner, but he didn't, much to his relief.

“Do I look…” Jean murmured.

“So good,” Marco finished. “Keep it on, since your other one is a little messy right now.” He winked, Jean catching what he meant.

They exited the storage room, looking around. No one looked disturbed or out of place from the activities Marco and Jean participated in previously, not that anyone saw or, hopefully, heard. Marco rung the blonde up at the register. He gave him a 10% discount, just because he liked him. Jean paid in cash, handing over more than necessary. Marco gave him a look.

“It’s a tip,” Jean explained. “for the fantastic _ass_ istance.” 

Marco couldn’t help but crack a smile. He bagged the dirty, old shirt in a big bag and cut the tag off of Jean’s shirt he was wearing. He waved at Jean, wishing him a good day.

Jean grinned, waving back, “I’ll come again,”

Marc O’Polo instantly became Jean’s favorite place to shop.

**Author's Note:**

> Stop! You're caught red-shirted!
> 
> If you liked this piece, why not give it a kudo? A comment is even nicer.


End file.
